In the magic hour, when the Moon is low
And the sky's the kinda blue that you think you know
But you don't know

The Turfcutters Donkey runs around and
All the fairy children they run around and
All the other children they make no sound

In that hour, if you're on the coast
And the waves nip at your heels like a dog
Pull me closer

It's past the time of the dinner bell
Before the shine of Orion's belt
The sky's still bluer than a bluebell

Oh when I go, won't you throw my bones to the fish
And weigh my body down with sticks and stones
Bury me not in the old graveyard where all my friends are
Beneath the heather on the high hillside
Death is a lonely bride

In the magic hour, when the moonlight gleams
And the sky's the kind of gray that you've never seen
Till you've seen it

Run down to the Virgin Mary's bank
Where our mothers cried and our fathers drank
We all just trying to see where the ship sank

In that hour, if you listen hard
You can hear my granddaddy singing far away
Like an evening star
Songs of an old Ireland, songs bout being young again
I wish I was young again

Oh when I go, won't you throw my bones to the fish
And weigh my body down with sticks and stones
Bury me not in the old graveyard where all my friends are
Beneath the heather on the high hillside
Death is a lonely bride